


Following After

by sonshineandshowers



Category: Jack and Jill (Nursery Rhyme), Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Loss, Minor Character Death, Pre-Series, Self-Harm, big sad, soff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:01:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23255116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonshineandshowers/pseuds/sonshineandshowers
Summary: Jackie and Gil went up the hill both ways to visit the Whitly’s. The crossover I accidentally fell into out of a response to the last one. Pre-Series.
Relationships: Gil Arroyo/Jackie Arroyo
Comments: 8
Kudos: 23





	Following After

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jameena](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jameena/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Jack and Jill](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/570154) by Nursery Rhyme. 



> for without friends to brainstorm with, this would never have happened. for jameena, who said, do another nursery rhyme, and this instantly came to mind.

Jackie and Gil went up the hill both ways to visit the Whitly’s. They hadn’t considered a child, but he’d become theirs, the circumstances warranting they do whatever they could to help him. He added an extra warmth to their marriage, filling a need they didn’t even know they wanted.

Some days they came away with the kid, offering to spend time wherever he wanted to go. The library, the park, the doldrums of the museum. Quiet and somewhat studious, they went there. A new opportunity for learning, they experienced it. A chance for Jackie and Gil to share something new with him, they tried it. Occasionally successfully, oftentimes not. But always returning him up the hill to his house brighter than he’d left.

Other days, he didn’t want to be seen in public. So they’d sit in his room, listening to facts and figures until he was bolstered enough to make it to the living room. Ate jello with him on the couch, laughing when Jackie stuck whipped cream on his nose.

He beat Jackie and Gil at Go Fish, poker, and every other card game they could think of where he needed to speak to play. They didn’t know how much longer they’d be able to get away with the scheme, yet helped him cope by keeping it going while they could. Tucked him into bed when he started tipping over in his seat, unable to hold the cards or anything else up anymore.

At first, he didn’t want to take medication. Went from barely speaking at all to screaming to high heaven when his mother gave it to him. She conceded the whole situation was hell and called Gil. After conversations of everyone needed to take medicine sometimes and a promise to go to the library, the pills went down his throat and they went out the door.

Days ranged from frenzied to depressed, and when Jackie and Gil came to the door, they never knew what side of him they would get. “Mute version today,” Jessica greeted, but before they could step inside and remind her there was only one multifaceted Malcolm, he was thrust out at them, his head hanging.

“Your place,” he begged, and they led him to the LeMans.

Jackie piled in the back seat with him and they climbed down the hill and over a smaller one and down again to get to the Arroyo’s. He leaned against her shoulder, and her arm went around his back, rubbing small circles to help him relax. Gil kept checking on them in the rearview mirror, smiling when Jackie’s eyes eventually caught him.

He sat on the floor in the corner of the kitchen while they worked around him, fixing pancakes with extra maple syrup. They handed a plate with a small pancake down to him and sat on either side, cutting into their own stacks. “Thank you,” he spoke, managing a small piece.

Jackie squeezed his knee, balancing her plate on her outstretched leg. “Anytime.”

“I think the medicine’s making me sick,” he revealed, wary of taking another bite. “Mom thinks I’m trying to get out of taking it.”

“What does your therapist think?” Gil asked.

“Haven’t told her yet,” Malcolm admitted, looking at his plate.

“How about you start there,” Jackie suggested.

“Can I read through your officer’s handbook again?” Malcolm asked, turning his head to Gil.

“Sure, kid.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Finish a little more of your pancake, and I’ll take the rest.”

Then it was a problem of taking too much medicine. Anything he could get his hands on to help him sleep. Pills from home, school. Other substances that promised to have a stronger kick. Until he wouldn’t come out of his room again. He called Gil himself, asking if he and Jackie would come sit with him because everything was too much - he worried he’d hurt himself.

They fetched themselves a Malcolm, and at his request, they sat three wide on a bench in the park, overlooking the river. “Honey, what did you mean on the phone?” Jackie started, trying to get him to speak. He’d been all one syllables since they summited the Whitly’s hill.

But he could only lean into her and cry, Gil’s hand clutching the back of his neck. “I - just - want - to sleep,” he pleaded between sobs. The most words he’d said since they’d gotten to him, yet not doing anything to allay their worries.

Gil’s fingers found the track marks on his arm, scratches from nails, cuts from paper. Jackie’s eyes found Gil’s, a deluge of concern flowing between them. The kid didn’t seem to care his actions had been discovered, his face remaining buried in her shoulder. They rode together and ended the day at his therapist, explaining it was urgent, and talking with his mother about the need for inpatient treatment.

Growth to fifteen became eighteen became twenty-seven. Whitly became Bright. New York became Boston became Quantico. And still, on the bad days, he called Gil, a speakerphone away from adding Jackie. They patched him up with laughter and love, life a little more manageable after.

They got to hear of his thesis defense on parental influence in growing homicidal behaviors. Be interviewed by the FBI as part of his background check. Learn of dates with anyone he found to be good company, and help piece him back together when they left.

They heard stories of _Bright antics_ as they started to call them. Losing his vest when he was restless only to find it hung above his desk. Getting fired up at a scene, arguing with his boss over legitimacy of shots fired, and almost getting fired. They’d talk until his tired yawn prompted them to remind him to lay down.

Gil called him when Jackie fell down, her crown a brush more grey, her body a little weaker from chemotherapy. He rushed home on the train, suddenly seeing age on his friends’ faces when he entered their living room to Jackie with her feet up on a footstool instead of fussing in the kitchen.

He mixed the pancakes, a single one going onto her plate with too much syrup. Sat beside her on the arm of the couch, hand wrapped around her shoulders. Ate the extra bits left when she couldn’t manage any more. Laughed about how her pancakes were better, but perhaps his were good enough. That one day they’d duke it out to settle the matter, but tonight she was tired.

He cried on the kitchen floor after she went to bed. Gil handed him a glass of whiskey and slid down next to him. They sipped in silence, Gil’s hand on his neck, his hand around his stomach.

“I’m sorry, Gil,” is all he can think of to say.

“Yeah. It is what it is, kid.” Gil takes a long pull of his drink.

“Is there anything I can do?”

Gil shook his head. “Just sit with me.”

Things were going downhill fast, and there wouldn't be long to wait.

Gil tumbled when Jackie went into the ground, plummeting down with her. Malcolm thought by phone was too far to fetch him, so he camped out in the green room. “For special guests like _you_ ,” Jackie had told him. Close enough to the next room in case Gil needed anything.

Jackie never got up, never came back home, and in many ways, Gil didn’t either. It took Malcolm to clear out the closet, donate her things. Malcolm to fix him something to eat even though Gil was the better cook. Malcolm to get him out of the house, down to the park, staring into the river. Malcolm squeezing his hand to get the words to come out, “I miss her.”

“I know. I do too.”

And they didn’t say anything else. Watched the water for over an hour, wondering if her smile or laugh would float in on the current. Listened for her comforting words whispering on the breeze curling around their necks. Stared at the open spot on the other side of Malcolm, hoping she’d materialize if they looked long enough. Caught each other's gaze and turned back to the river.

“Let’s go home,” Gil announced, rose, and waited for Malcolm to stand.

Bright and Gil went home, and still, she’ll forever be following after.

* * *

_fin_


End file.
